


When time and place collide

by teskodanceparty



Category: Supernatural, Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-19
Updated: 2013-01-19
Packaged: 2017-11-26 02:25:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/645517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teskodanceparty/pseuds/teskodanceparty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's only ever dreamt of fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When time and place collide

Maggie doesn't get much sleep. She's only ever dreamt of fire.

It's not that she can't, or that she never tried; there are even nights when she manages a full five hours uninterrupted. But most nights, nights like tonight, she jolts awake, drenched in sweat with a scream on her tongue.

Her hands cover her eyes to block out the light streaming weakly in between the slats of wood over the windows. She clutches at the nightmare that, even as she clings, leaks out between her fingers, and tries to remember.

She catches a glimpse of longer, blonder hair, the feel of silk against bare skin, and a low throaty laugh that isn't quite hers. And then fire and pain, always fire and pain.

 

— _She's on the rack and there are tears streaming down her face as he pulls the knife free and sneers_ —

 

Rick is fuming, pacing out in front of the truck he's been driving for months, and all they can ever do is watch until he calms. Maggie doesn't know what pushes her to climb out of the car she shares with Glenn. Her strides come quick, boots snapping against broken pavement and she misses the click of high-heels she's never worn.

"Now, now. Mind your blood pressure."

The words fall from her mouth and Daryl eyes her curiously over the top of his crossbow, not missing a beat as he watches the edge of the road though the accent, the tenor, _all of it_ is entirely wrong.

"Blood pressure's least of our worries right now, Mags." he says, head tilted towards her, and doesn't say anything to the rest of the group when she has to run behind a tree near the road and throw up.

 

— _Her hands and feet have been numb for so long she forgets they're there more often then not. It doesn't stop her from laughing, full bodied though it drives the nails further into her scalp, metal biting into unfeeling blood drenched limbs_ —

 

Sometimes, if she squeezes her eyes shut, blocks out the light and listens hard enough, she can make out the rumble of a man's voice. It's not the half-remembered lullabies her daddy would sing them as kids, or any of the men in their little island of misfit toys at the end of days.

It's... Not safe, because nothing is safe now and she's not so easily fooled, but familiar. The voice pitches low, angry at something, someone (her?) and vows he'll see her in hell.

She thinks to herself; that voice echoing cold in her mind, that she should be able to see him, remember whoever he is to her, because she's already there.

 

— _She grins a mouth full of broken teeth and her own blood, says, "Finished already, Dean? I'm told a little blue pill can help you with that particular problem."_

_"You'd love that wouldn't y—"_

 

She fires a gun with an ease she's never felt before, and forgets the shape of her mama's name on her tongue. She climbs through a window on the third story of an abandoned house without so much as pulling a muscle. Her hair is getting long and she can't bring herself to cut it.

She knows something is incredibly wrong, and can see everyone else trying not to point it out, and pulls away because of it.

There are flashes of red and fire and the sting of a blade every time she shuts her eyes now.

 

_"—You cold dead bitch?" He growls, mouth close and angry, always so angry past the glint of his favorite blade and the black glass of his eyes. Her lip splits around a grin._

_"Takes one to know one, darling—"_

 

She doesn't fall back asleep.


End file.
